1
1837. LONDON, ENGLAND.
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a young lady’s reputation is the most valuable possession she will ever own.
Which is perfectly fine, Bennetta Darcy thought angrily, until you lose it through someone else’s bad conduct, especially if that person is your oldest sister who has always been held up to you since childhood as the very model of good behaviour.
“Why can’t you be more like Anne? Please try to behave like your sister. If Anne’s manners are so polished, why aren’t yours?” She could still hear quite clearly the voices of nurses and governesses over the years.
“I thought all the gossip and scandal about Anne would have died away by now,” she said gloomily, watching Jane, her other sister, dressing for an evening dinner party. Her maid having been dismissed, the two girls had the room to themselves and could speak their minds freely.
Bennetta was staying with Jane and her husband, Archer Maitland, the distinguished lawyer, in their London house, trying to pick up the pieces of her social life that had been so disrupted by Anne, Jane’s twin sister, producing an illegitimate baby the year before.
As if that life-changing scandal had not been bad enough, Anne had refused to name the father, refused to give the child up for adoption and was, according to the gossips, flaunting herself in the town of Newmarket in Suffolk as if appearing in public, including visiting the theatre and musical soirées, was quite acceptable.
Anne was heavily involved in breeding racehorses, a woman in a man’s world, and the sharp edge of gossip didn’t seem to bother her at all.
Jane sighed, pinning a blonde curl that was trying to escape its elaborate styling, and reached for the topaz necklet her husband had bought her on the birth of their own twins, Andrew and Lizabelle.
In the dressing-table mirror she could see her pretty, dark-haired sister sitting on the bed behind her, creasing the pale green silk spread, still in short, lace-edged drawers and corset. Her long dark curly hair was loose on her shoulders and she was making no effort to return to her own room to dress.
Bennetta was in a strange mood these days; she seemed gloomy, unhappy, far from her usual bright, sparkling self. Jane was beginning to wonder if perhaps there had been a special beau in her life who had vanished when the scandal rocked their social circle. So many men would hate to be involved with such a family, regardless of their wealth. Reputation was everything.
She was cross with herself for not knowing; the arrival of her babies had left her oblivious to what was happening in the world around her. But surely her mama would have mentioned in the last few months if Bennetta was suffering from a broken heart?
“Benny, you must have known how Anne’s behaviour would be received by society. Being married and a mother, I am luckily outside the range of the gossips, but even I have noticed a falling off in invitations to tea parties, dinners, theatre outings. As a single girl, sadly I fear you are bearing the brunt of the scandal. Anne, as we know only too well, seems quite impervious.”
Her sister sighed, jumped off the bed and wandered across to look out of the window into the London square below that lay baking in the late afternoon sun.
She wrinkled her nose as the rich smell of horse manure and an overflowing drain reached her. She hated London in the summer.
“That is very true. Mind you, I do not regret persuading Anne to keep the baby. Louisa is a sweet child – she looks so like Mama; I wonder if she will be like her in character? I suppose I thought that with the King dying so conveniently, a young Queen on the throne and everyone making plans for a coronation, our little family contretemps would be forgotten.”
“Benny! I think it very wrong to be pleased by the poor King’s passing. And do come away from the window. You are showing far too much bosom to our neighbours! The Dowager Lady Boycott lives opposite. If she happened to glance out of her window …”
“La, it would give her something to gossip about. I can’t get used to looking out at houses and not trees. Do you not miss Pemberley, the fields and hills, the lovely fresh air?”
Jane, in her usual style, thought carefully before replying. “Archer needs to live in London for his work, so there is no choice to make. I love Pemberley, of course I do. But I love Archer more.”
“Oh well, you were lucky to fall in love with your husband before you married. My prospects are now so bad that I’ll be delighted to find anyone at all who wants me as his wife.” She pointed dramatically out of the window. “I imagine that even that street sweeper down there would probably decline the match! Being a Darcy is the only thing that is keeping me from being completely ostracised by the whole of society.”
She plumped down on the edge of the bed again, swinging her legs, looking more like a young girl of twelve than a respectable lady in her early twenties.
“Surely you must have met some men recently who are not bothered by the gossip.”
Bennetta sniffed disdainfully. “Well, of course I have. But they are all so boring! Life is boring!” She hesitated, then said in an offhand fashion, “I had a very kind letter from Martin Courtney, pledging his sympathy and support. As he should, as he was as involved in Anne’s escapade as I was. But I expect his aunt, dear Lady Honoria, urged him to write. She, at least, has no time for gossip.”
Jane, finding the clasp of the necklet difficult to fasten, was not paying a lot of attention. “You and Martin have always been good friends. I seem to recall you flirting shamelessly with him at Cassandra’s wedding! Papa was furious, you were only just sixteen.
“Martin’s reputation was not good, even then, although I have heard on the grapevine that he is much quieter these days and is rarely seen in the gambling dens and music halls. In a letter I received recently from Anne, even she mentioned that she had not seen him at race meetings for months.”
A shock of bright gold hair, mischief gleaming from wicked green eyes, a tall, handsome, elegant man whose gaze had caused sparks to ignite between them – yes, Bennetta remembered her first meeting with Martin Courtney only too well.
As the years had passed and she had come to know him better, she had also realised that a man more than twelve years her senior, whose reputation with women was scandalous, was not the type of suitor to whom a Darcy daughter should ever give a passing thought.
But, although she refused to admit it to herself, every time she met a man who might well be considered a suitable husband, Martin’s face and teasing words banished him away.
Sighing, she slipped off the bed to help Jane fasten the necklace. “It is hard to imagine Martin being a sober and sensible citizen. Even if he was and we wanted to wed – which, of course, we don’t! – I know Papa would forbid the marriage, just to annoy me.”
Jane sighed. “Dear Benny, don’t be so dramatic. First of all, you are not going to marry Martin Courtney, don’t be silly, and secondly, you are over twenty-one so Papa cannot influence your choice. Now, do go and dress! The carriage has been ordered for six and if you are tardy we will be late for Mr Snow’s and you know how much Archer admires and expects punctuality. And do make certain that wretched maid of yours puts up your hair in a proper fashion.”
“Oh, the miserable Florence! One of Mama’s few failures in trying to improve our servants’ positions in the world. She thought the girl would make a good lady’s maid, but Florence hates the work and longs to be home in Pemberley, peeling potatoes, podding peas and washing china in the scullery.”
Jane sighed. “Mama is not often wrong, but I fear you are right. Florence will never make the transition from kitchen to bedroom.”
“Dear Mama. I do miss her. How far do you think she and Papa will have travelled by now?”
The comment, made as Bennetta reached the door, seemed innocent enough, but her sister caught the pain behind the words. Their parents had embarked on an adventuresome journey, crossing Europe to Italy and then on to Greece.
Elizabeth Darcy had been ill earlier in the year, her usual robust health undermined by concern over the scandal Anne had brought upon the family. She had recovered well but her husband, frantic with worry, had decided to take her abroad to recuperate, away from all cares and concerns and the arduous responsibilities that came with being mistress of Pemberley.
“I expect they are enjoying Paris at the moment,” Jane replied calmly. “You should have gone with them.”
There was a pause, then as Bennetta left the room the sad words floated back – “I wasn’t invited.”
Jane sighed and finished her preparations for the evening ahead. That remark was, of course, at the root of her sister’s unhappiness. She had expected to join her parents on their travels, but the Darcys had thought she would be far happier enjoying the summer months amongst her own friends.
Then, deciding that she might fall into some mischief alone at Pemberley, they had arranged for her to spend time with Jane and then travel down to Kent to stay at the great house of Rosings with Lady Merryn, now Mrs Mallory, their distant relation.
Jane had been aware during their childhood that Bennetta harboured the ridiculous notion that their papa did not love her, or if he did, it was not with the same affection he bestowed on his other children.
A quiet, proud, reserved man, he rarely showed his deepest feelings, but Jane had never doubted the warmth of his love for her; the little smile that crossed his face when he first saw her in the morning, the touch of his hand on her cheek when she bade him goodnight. It saddened her to think that her little sister did not appear to have experienced the same things, felt the same love.
Servants’ gossip, many years ago, had informed the Darcy brothers and sisters that their mama had almost died giving birth to Bennetta and their father found it difficult to forget those traumatic days when his beloved wife hovered on the brink of death.
Jane had often tried to dissuade her sister from such sad thoughts, but sometimes – when she watched and listened to them together – she wondered unhappily if there might be just a thread of truth in the concept. Oh, she was sure her papa loved Bennetta, but he did seem to find fault with her a great deal.
She remembered Bennetta’s angry words when she first arrived in London – how she felt like a parcel, passed from hand to hand, that no one could deliver to the right address.
That was so sad, but she was glad that almost all the family connections had given their support during Anne’s scandal. It had indeed been kind of Martin to write, but Jane hoped most devoutly that he did not have any pretensions to court her sister.
She was a young lady from a very wealthy family and Martin was a man who needed a rich wife. Unlike her own dear Archer, he had no employment, no source of income except what he received from the Courtney estate up in Northumberland or won at the gambling tables. Well, thank goodness Papa and Mama would never countenance such an alliance, although of course, she reminded herself, they couldn’t actually prevent it from happening.
***
At that moment, in a small office in one of London’s larger government buildings near Horse Guards Parade, Martin Courtney was sitting listening with some concern to an elderly gentleman seated on the far side of a large desk. The older man was bewigged, his dark jacket liberally spattered with snuff.
Heavy drapes shut out the sunlight and softened the sound of a regimental band practising a marching tune. The old, dark furniture made the room seem small and airless on this hot summer day. Bookshelves, grey with age and dust, lined each wall and a table under the window was piled high with papers, rolls of documents and maps. An ornate inkwell was the only decoration.
Martin had been astonished when a message, asking him to call on a Mr Cheriton at a certain time, had reached him at the Courtney family’s small London house, where he lived when in town.
“Mr Courtney …” The man gazed severely at Martin over his gold rimmed spectacles: he saw a tall, fair-haired, elegant fellow, soberly dressed. “I have here a letter from your aunt, the Lady Honoria de Bois.”
Martin bit back a groan. This did not augur well: when his aunt began to meddle in his affairs, trouble usually followed.
“Hmmmm – a remarkable woman. One I have known for many years and, although in your case I doubt it, usually a good judge of character.”
Martin nodded cautiously. “My aunt has always been extremely frank about my behaviour. Frank and very scathing, if truth be told.”
“She seems to think that over the past year you have changed your lifestyle and in her own words, ‘finally grown up’. She wishes me to find you employment.”
Mr Cheriton pulled off his spectacles and spun them round his finger as he continued. “I owe the Lady Honoria a debt – one that does not concern you, Mr Courtney. And, as fate would have it, there is a small task that would be suitable for you to undertake for the Crown.”
Martin frowned and stroked a rogue lock of blond hair off his forehead. “I can think of nothing that I can do for the young Queen, Sir; although she does, of course have my utmost respect and loyalty.”
“Hmmmm. Quite so. Quite so. But this would not just be for Her Majesty in person, more for your country. I believe you are a single gentleman, Mr Courtney. You have no young lady who would enquire as to your whereabouts if, say, you were away from London for some weeks? No female acquaintance who would be shocked if you, say, appeared in public with another?”
For a swift moment, Martin’s thoughts flew to the one girl whom he had ever wanted to call wife, whose dark eyes and mischievous smile sometimes haunted his dreams in an impossible fashion.
“No, Sir. No one is likely to question my behaviour or be concerned about it.”
“Hmmmm. Good, good. Now, do you know a certain Mr Raiford Burnley?”
“Raiford Burnley? Yes, I have met him once or twice around the gambling tables and at Newmarket for the races, but he is not a friend. He is considerably younger than me.”
“Have you ever visited his family home, Heron’s Keep in the county of Kent, where his grandmother lives?”
Martin frowned, puzzled as to where this line of conversation was heading, and shook his head.
“I have heard that it is situated on a remote island, somewhere off the Kent coast. Now I recall that I once heard Mr Burnley describe it as a ‘godforsaken place on the marshes – the end of the world,’ but that may have just been a young man’s reaction to peace and quiet. And he had imbibed a quantity of champagne at the time, if my memory serves.”
Mr Cheriton gazed at him from under bushy eyebrows. “It is only an island when the tide is high, otherwise it is usually reached by a road from the mainland. Hmmmm. Now, let me explain our problem, Mr Courtney, and what exactly I wish you to do. There is a lady whom you must speak with immediately. If you will attend a soirée my wife is holding this evening, you will be introduced to her. This lady also knows and understands the problem and is the key to solving it. She will be able to give you useful advice. Now listen, this is what I need you to do …”
***
Bennetta was still thinking about how miserable she was as the Maitland carriage rumbled through the London streets. She fanned herself, trying to move the hot, humid air from her face.
“La, London is unbearable in the summer! I don’t know how you stand it, Jane.” She leant across and tapped her brother-in-law on his knee with her fan. “You should take the family down to Dorset, to stay with your grandmother. The sea air will be a tonic to you all, especially the babies. They are so fractious when it is hot at night. I declare I can hear them crying even though my room is away from the night nursery, thankfully.”
Archer frowned. “You are right, Sister. Jane and I have already discussed such a plan. I may be able to take time away from my office at the end of the week. You will come with us, of course.”
Bennetta screwed up her nose and tried to think of a polite way of saying that the thought of staying with the redoubtable, terrifying Lady Goddard did not fill her with glee.
And once again, she realised, she would be living with the family but not part of that tight, inner circle. She knew Jane would never deliberately make her feel excluded, that it was her own sensitivity which continually put the thought in her mind, but that did not stop her feeling lonely and alone.
Sitting in the evenings, watching Archer and Jane together – the look on his face as she played the pianoforte, the way she touched his cheek when she thought no one was looking – for some reason all these things made Bennetta feel sad, aware that something was missing in her life, but she didn’t know what that was.
Bennetta was beginning to think that Anne might have the right idea – apart from the illegitimate daughter, of course! She had her own house, her own home and friends. She made her own decisions and answered to no one as to what she did or where she went. Anne, for all her troubles, was happier than she was.
“That is kind, Brother, but I shall return to Matlock House for a few days before making the short journey to Kent to stay with cousin Merryn as originally planned and see the progress she and her husband have made on turning Rosings into a school. It is a visit we have planned for some time.”
She turned to gaze out of the carriage window as she spoke and, under cover of her silk evening cloak, crossed her fingers. Even though she was no longer a child, she was sure that doing so meant her remarks were not really lies!
Jane – who was privy to private information that Lady Merryn was expecting her first child in October – was about to protest that it might not be convenient for Bennetta to stay at Rosings until their parents returned from Greece, but the carriage was drawing to a halt with much shouting from the coachman and stamping of hooves on the sanded surface of the driveway.
“I knew we would arrive late!” Archer sounded exasperated. “Although we are not the only ones, by the look of it.”
The sweep of gravel leading up to the front steps was crowded with carriages, gentlemen on horseback, a clutter of beggars pleading for alms and raggedy children running to open doors or hold bridles, desperate for the odd coin to be thrown in their direction.
“Goodness, what a great number of peoples. Do be careful, my dear!” Jane was all alarm as Archer jumped down from their coach without waiting for the footman and held the door for his wife.
Jane took his hand and stepped smartly out and up the steps to the front door. Bennetta followed in her footsteps, then – halfway up – paused, annoyed, realising she had left her silk reticule in the carriage.
Turning, she ran back down the steps, waving in a most unladylike fashion at the coachman to stop. Stepping up to the carriage door, she leant inside and grasped her bag just as another late arriving coach swung into the driveway, the horses travelling too fast, the brakes squealing and the driver shouting as a young lady in a flowing green silk cloak stepped back from the carriage into their path.
***
Captain Piers Temple tightened the reins as his horse danced impatiently, waiting for a flood of people to cross the street in front of him.
“Lord, what a crowd!” His companion was mounted on a grey that was also showing signs of irritation at the delay. “London is fast becoming unbearable.” Raiford Burnley’s handsome face darkened for a second with a scowl that made him look even younger than his twenty-three years.
Captain Temple swore as the high stock of his Army dress uniform cut into his throat, and frowned at his companion as the flood of London citizens lessened slightly and they continued down the road, threading their way past vegetable barrows, drays, curricles and carriages.
He tried to keep his irritation from showing in his voice. “I don’t understand why you’re still in town, Cousin. I thought you were expected at Heron’s Keep this month?”
He had been relying on Raiford leaving London by now and heading to his home in Kent. It was imperative that he had an excuse to visit him in the country, and his tardiness at departing meant his own frustration was growing.
Raiford groaned. “Don’t remind me! Yes, I can put off the visit no longer. Perhaps another week, if I am lucky, then I must brace myself for long days and even longer nights, answering endless questions from my grandmother as to how I live my life, and when I am going to marry and produce an heir for the estate. An estate, I might add, that is being left to ruin. Oh, how I wish I had control. I vow I could turn Heron’s Keep into a place that would bring pride to the family.”
His thoughts flew to that wild marshland, the ceaseless wind from the ocean, the calling of the seabirds, the constant noise of the rustling reeds. As much as he pretended indifference, he knew in his heart that he loved what would one day become his home with a deep passion.
Piers was laughing at him. “My dear Raif, every time I have seen you out in society, you have had young ladies hanging on your arm, listening wide-eyed to your every word. I am sure you can find one to make your wife. Perhaps you will find the ideal girl at Mr Snow’s gathering this evening.”
“Oh I doubt it. I think I can probably recite the names of all the ladies who will be in attendance. And I cannot think of one who would be prepared to give up a life of gaiety, dances and society to bury herself in that lonely marshland, where the only company is that of thousands of sea birds and a few boring neighbours who only visit on rare occasions.”
The Captain frowned, then smiled. “I would have thought a week or two away from this heat would be welcome. It sounds a grand plan to me. An absence from London will surely be beneficial. I only wish I had a country retreat instead of a house in town.” He sighed heavily. “My annual visit to your grandmother to celebrate her birthday will be in a few weeks’ time. You can have no idea how much I am looking forward to the occasion.”
Raiford exclaimed, “Oh do try and come earlier this year, Piers! Come as soon as I am in residence. You are one of the few relatives of mine, be the connection ever so distant, that I can stand. I’ll be glad to have your company. Anything to alleviate the boredom.”
Piers eased his mount away from a cart loaded dangerously high with vegetables. The boy was so young and innocent that it was almost a crime to manipulate him in this way.
“That is kind of you, Raif. I might well take you up on your kind offer. I am fond of your grandmother and am always desirous of wishing her every happy return. You may look for me as soon as I can possibly get away.”
“Good, that’s agreed, we’ll have some fun – oh look, there’s a crowd arriving at Snow’s house,” and Raiford urged his mount into a trot to avoid a fast-turning carriage. “My God, look at that little fool! She’ll be killed.”
The girl in question had run down the front steps, obviously set on retrieving something from her carriage. But as she turned and stepped back down on the ground, a phaeton that was travelling far too fast rounded a corner, the horse’s eyes rolling wildly, foam flecking from its mouth as the driver pulled impotently on the reins.
In a moment of terrifying clarity, Raiford saw a white, determined face, a cascade of dark curls and a flurry of green silk as he flung himself off his horse and plucked her away from almost certain injury.